


Never Ever Call John A Mudblood

by urcool91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anderson Is a Dick, Angst and Humor, Bigotry & Prejudice, Gen, Mostly humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urcool91/pseuds/urcool91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just don't. Sherlock will get pissy. Snape's pretty nice about it, though, after he's done being equally pissy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Ever Call John A Mudblood

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FF.net. This got a bit more serious than I'd intended.

John was excited and a little nervous. Ever since flying lessons all he'd wanted to do was get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He'd assumed that he'd have to wait until at least his second year, but the position of Keeper was open, and he knew that if anyone would take a short, chubby, first-year muggleborn, it would be Harry Potter. Greg thought he had a chance, and Sherlock said that his own House, Slytherin, would have a fit if John got on, which was Sherlock's way of being supportive. And, after all, the worst that could happen was that John wouldn't get on the team.

He got out onto the the pitch and looked around. It was more crowded than he'd thought it would be, and there were people watching in the stands. John felt like a boa constrictor was clenched around his stomach. This had not been a good idea at all, and he was about to turn right around and leave when he saw Greg and Sherlock in the stands. Greg waved at him and Sherlock tried for a smile. Both made him feel a little less out of place and more a Gryffindor. He was still scared, though.

Harry Potter walked into the pitch. He was saying something, but John was concentrating on not throwing up, thank you very much. Still, it was a little calming to know that they were getting started and it would all be over soon. Then they all grabbed brooms and began flying laps around the pitch.

This was better. John leaned forward and accelerated smoothly, wind blowing back his robes and making his eyes sting. It wasn't easy, but it was... fun and a challenge. John was disappointed when they were called down and even more disappointed when he was ruled out as a possible Keeper. Still, he  _was_ only a first year. He had plenty of time to make the team.

He went over to join his friends and watch the rest of the tryouts. Greg clapped him on the shoulder, and Sherlock called Harry Potter an idiot and began to make all sorts of allegations (including but not limited to the fact that, according to Sherlock, Potter was in love with his best friend's sister).

After the tryouts ended (and John had to admit that he never could've blocked the Quaffle like that), John and Sherlock walked back toward the castle together. Greg had left (probably to talk to Molly, a Ravenclaw, who even John could see he liked). They were about halfway there when someone came up behind them.

"Hey." It was Harry Potter. John blinked and tried not to show the slight awe he felt. "Look, Watson, you're good, but you're not Keeper material. One of our Chasers is leaving next year. If you practise regularly, you'll have a good chance at making the team."

"Really?" John blurted out, then he felt his face burn. Well, that sure sounded intelligent. Harry Potter laughed a little.

"Sure," he said, then he ran to catch up with his own friends. John could tell from Sherlock's amused expression that he had a big, stupid grin on his face, but he didn't care. He hadn't made the team, but  _Harry Potter_  had said he might make it next year. He couldn't wait to tell Greg.

"Wow, Gryffindor must be desperate if they're encouraging someone like you to even get on a broomstick." John stiffened and turned around. It was Anderson, a Slytherin whose lack of brains was only matched by his adherence to certain stereotypes. Sherlock loathed Anderson in a way he loathed no one else, and Anderson was only too happy to insult Sherlock and John at every opportunity.

"Says the boy who fell off within 5.5 minutes of getting on his," said Sherlock in his offhand, slightly bored, yet cutting way. Anderson scowled.

"At least I come from a proper family. I think I'd curse myself if I was a Mudblood like Watson." John knew instantly that Anderson had said something really bad. Sherlock's face had gone from bored to cold fury. He shot forward like a bullet, tackled Anderson, and began punching him anywhere he could.

"You fucking, buggering-"

"Sherlock!" John said, trying to drag his friend away, but Sherlock wasn't having any of it.

"I swear that if you ever say that about John again I'll-"

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!" John felt himself being dragged off the tussle. Sherlock was next to him still trying to beat up Anderson. John looked up and...  _Oh, bugger,_ he thought. It was Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft Holmes, the Head Boy, and he was worse than anyone, even Professor Snape.

"Mycroft-" Sherlock began to whine. Mycroft's nostrils flared.

"I have you out of my sight for one minute and you go getting into Muggle duels." John was sure that whatever happened next wouldn't be good. Suddenly he spotted dark plum robes and a matching hat behind Mycroft.

"Mr. Holmes, what is going on here?" Mycroft dropped John but kept firm hold of Sherlock.

"Professor McGonagall," he said, "I'm terribly sorry."

"What is going on here, Mr. Holmes? I sent you to find Harry and you-"

"I'm right here, Professor." John's mouth dropped open. Harry Potter was here too? This was a bit not good.

"Mr. Potter, I wanted to see you in my office but... well..." She gave a significant glance that was more like a glare toward John, Sherlock, and Anderson.

"Professor, if I might make a suggestion, it seems obvious that Professor Snape's office is the best place to deal with these three," said Mycroft. "After all, there are two Slytherins involved in a fight, and with each other no less! You should be present because of Watson here. Mr. Potter can stay or go wait in your office if he prefers."

"Well..."

"I should be there anyways, Professor. After all, I did see the whole thing." Harry Potter sounded a bit reluctant.

"It's settled then," said Mycroft, clapping his hands together. Then he pulled Anderson up and marched them into the castle and down to the dungeons. When they got to a rather scary-looking door (ebony wood with dark metal rivets) Mycroft knocked and entered with Professor McGonagall and Harry Potter, leaving Sherlock, John, and Anderson to sweat it out. Not that Anderson was sweating, oh no, he was looking very smug and pleased with himself.

"You two'll be in so much trouble," he said in a sing-songy voice.

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock snapped. "You were the one who said that word." John was about to ask what was so bad about the word 'Mudblood' when the door opened of it's own accord. John jumped.

"Come in, you three," said a slow, deep voice- Professor Snape. John took a deep breath and walked in, Sherlock and Anderson trailing behind him. He looked around. It was surprisingly cosy, with a big rosewood desk and some comfortable armchairs scattered around. A fire roared to the side with a cauldron over it, and John could smell... old books and some sort of oil and his mum's chocolate-chip cookies. It was a weird potion, and he could see Sherlock eyeing it, no doubt knowing what it was already.

"Sit." John snapped his attention back to the hook-nosed professor sitting at the desk. In front of the desk there were three straight-backed wooden chairs. He bit his lip, ducked his face down, and sat in the chair farthest to the right. Sherlock sat next to him, haughty and imperious as ever, and Anderson sat on the other side of Sherlock. For a moment there was a nervous silence.

"Now," said Professor Snape, "can any of you tell me the truth of what happened on the grounds this evening?"

"Well, you see, Professor," said Anderson, "Holmes just attacked me. I didn't even see him coming-"

"It was only because  _you_  said John-" said Sherlock heatedly, but Anderson spoke over him.

"I think he's a danger to us  _normal_  people, Professor. He's a freak, you know-"

"At least I'm not an imbecile. Honestly, the face you can string together the words that make up these lies is astounding-"

"Quiet, both of you," said Professor Snape calmly. John felt the weight of the professor's gaze on him. He looked up and quickly looked down again, because those eyes looked like they were intent on boring holes into him. "Well, Mr. Watson, what happened?" John opened and closed his mouth a few times, feeling his face growing steadily redder.

"Me and Sherlock were just walking back from the pitch and Anderson came up and said some really bad things about me so Sherlock started punching him and then Mycroft came and I'm really, really sorry, Professor." John shut his mouth and his eyes. It had all come out in a rush, and it hadn't been very impressive. He opened his eyes to find Professor Snape's face about 10 centimetres from his own.

"What did Anderson say?" Professor Snape said softly, his normally tunnel-like eyes filled with some emotion. John blinked and the emotion was gone, as though he had just imagined it. " _What did he say about you?_ " Professor Snape's hands curled like vises around John's upper arms.

"I dunno... just more of the usual, mostly, but then he said something about coming from a proper family and how he'd curse himself if he was a- a Mudblood like me." Sherlock snarled beside him.

"Did he use that word?" John nodded and closed his eyes, feeling a little sick. Professor Snape let go of his arms, and John heard him stand. A few seconds later there was a loud thunk and a sharp cry of pain. John opened his eyes to see Anderson rubbing his head and a livid Professor Snape holding a rather large potions book. Sherlock looked delighted, Harry Potter and Professor McGonagall looked shocked, and Mycroft simply looked bored. John had to put himself in that second group.

"50 points from Slytherin, Anderson. No one can use that word  _ever,_ do you understand?" Anderson seemed to have shrunk.

"Yes, Professor Snape, sir," he mumbled. Snape turned to Sherlock.

"I'm afraid I can't award you House Points without making Anderson's punishment null and void."

"Seeing Anderson hit on the head is more than enough of an award, Professor, though I fear that you might have killed what few brain cells he had," said Sherlock. "Professor, can we go to supper now?"

"Yes, of course." Sherlock swept out the door and John made to follow him. "Oh, and Mr. Watson?" John turned.

"Yes, sir?" Though his expression was still intense, Professor Snape didn't seem nearly as scary now.

"If you ever even  _hear_ of anyone being called that word or bullied because of their family, you come straight to me, all right?"

"Yes, sir," said John, then he left, jogging to keep up with Sherlock. If he had looked back he would have seen Snape smiling wistfully. Sherlock and John reminded him of another pair of best friends from long ago, another Slytherin and another Gryffindor.


End file.
